Going for Kona (8 page)

I ran to the bathroom and vomited.

***

By the time I got back to Houston, the inquiry had mushroomed from one reporter to one hundred. After sending an answer to the original reporter—Absolute horseshit!—I couldn’t answer the rest. Even though I had seen Adrian’s face when he met Rhonda at our launch party, even though I wanted desperately to believe he had never met her, how could this not buffet me about like a cowboy caught in a stampede?

According to the “press release” she emailed to every media outlet in the universe, Rhonda and Adrian met at the New Orleans 70.3 triathlon the year before. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, it wasn’t impossible. I’d come down with salmonella and had to scratch, but Adrian went to try for a Kona qualification. He missed it by seconds and stayed over to recover, then slept in and had lunch in the Quarter before driving back to Houston. I racked my brain for anything odd about how he acted when he got home, but I came up with nothing. He nursed me through the rest of my salmonella and was as attentive and loving as ever.

Rhonda’s email included lurid details of a wild night in her hotel room with her “athletic stud” and weekday trysts and weekend hookups all over Houston for the next year—including in my own house, in my own bed. She said he had her meet him when he was out with me in public places, and they’d sneak off and do it in back hallways, bathrooms, and closets, because, he told her, I was “an uptight bitch with no sense of adventure.”

Two things were crystalline: Rhonda knew where we went, and she was obsessed with my husband. The rest I just had to believe were the delusions of a disturbed woman.

I hated this woman for messing with my mind, and I Googled her name every five minutes on my phone as I bicycled in my living room. My parents were staying for Sam’s birthday the next day, and I tried to hide my anxiety from them, which was tricky with Papa ten feet away watching his favorite movie,
Lonesome Dove
,on Netflix with me, and Mom in and out, fussing. The kids had both taken off with friends, luckily. So I searched and searched, but nothing came up about her crazy allegations, and I let myself hope.

Then I woke Saturday morning. On my first try, I found her story—with a picture of her and Adrian from our book launch party, with me cropped out—on PerezHilton.com. From there, it went everywhere, and not a single story ran my horseshit quote. They all managed to include the same one from Rhonda, though, about how she liked to pretend she was on his bicycle and ride him across the finish line.

Honestly, if I believed Adrian was capable of sleeping with a twit like her, I never would have gone out with him in the first place. I could show her a thing or two about a sense of adventure. I wasn’t going to trumpet those things to the media, though. I turned my phone to airplane mode so no one would pick up a media call.

My sole goal for the day was to keep Sam and Annabelle from seeing any of that garbage. I’d spent the past two years helping Juniper Media get savvy to the ways of online news, and I knew Internet trash gives over to something new every fifteen minutes, and that weekend stories die before Monday. Newspapers don’t print this crap, either. So I just had to get us through the weekend. At least. Sam and Annabelle would be consumed with birthday distractions, and my parents I didn’t need to worry about. They didn’t get online much, especially when they visited us. Mom would be baking and decorating Sam’s 33 cake all morning, and then we’d leave for the party.

My prevention plan started to gel. I could formulate the rest of it on my run, which I had to get in before Sam woke up. I scrambled out of bed and got ready, dodging Mom by staying out of the kitchen. Five minutes later I loped out the door and into the heat and humidity with Adrian’s seventies rock playlist cranked as high as I could bear on my Shuffle.

Sixty-seven minutes later, my Garmin read 9:30 a.m. I took the fastest shower of my life, listening for sounds of life upstairs. Nothing from Sam yet. Annabelle would return from swim practice any minute. The clock on the oven read 9:59 when I made it into the kitchen. Mom’s cake was on the counter, but she and Papa and their car were nowhere to be seen.

Sam wanted Belgian waffles for his birthday brunch, but that would have to wait until I disabled the wifi router in the home office. I went in and eyeballed the setup, looking for a way to stop its signal that my tech-savvy teens wouldn’t be able to diagnose without serious effort. I decided my best bet was to pull the phone plug out of the socket just far enough to lose contact, but not so far that you could see it with the naked eye behind seven bajillion other cords. I crawled under the desk and grabbed the DSL cord, gently pinched the plastic tab and eased it out until it unclicked, and left it barely hanging from the socket.

“What are you doing, Mom?” My head cracked into the underside of the desk, and I crawled out, grimacing. Sam was standing six inches behind me. “Wifi is out. I was trying to fix it.”

“Is it working now? I have friends coming over before the party, and we need it for League of Legends.”

Caca del toro. “Let’s test it.”

I sat down at the desktop between our floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves of books and Sam hovered over my shoulder. The flashing red lights on the router already told the story—no wifi—but I made a show of pulling up the Firefox browser. “Nope. It’s dead. I’ve tried everything. I’ll call AT&T and report an outage.”

“Ah, man.” Sam kicked an Amazon box an inch across the floor with his toe. Then he stood up straighter. “I’ll see if we can play at someone else’s house.”

“Don’t you think you can live without League of Legends for one day?”

“It’s my birthday.” Sam’s voice sounded more whiney thirteen than I-think-I’m-grown-up sixteen.

If I let him game at someone else’s house, he’d have Internet access and he might see a story flash across a news page. I thought fast. “Well, it was going to be a surprise, but I’d decided to let you pick up your friends—with me in the front seat, of course—and we’d all go to the batting cage and have hot dogs and canned-cheese nachos before we head out to paintball.” It was an Adrian-inspired plan that I’d regret when I got the credit card bill.

I headed into the kitchen. Sam followed me and thought about it while I mixed the waffle batter. “Okay.”

I breathed an inner sigh of relief. Now, if I could just convince my parents and Annabelle to come with us, maybe I could insulate them all from my new reality.

Sunday morning at six fifteen, right on my mother’s schedule, my parents finally left. As soon as they backed out of the driveway I ran for my bicycle gear and straight back to the Jetta. I was desperate to fly along the Church of the Open Road, the name Adrian had given our Sunday morning rides. That day I would ride it by myself for the first of many times to come. I couldn’t just wake up one day in October, hop on a plane to Hawaii, and say, “Let’s do this.” I would continue training twenty-five hours a week over the next two months. I had to train, and I had to do it alone.

Adrian used to ride solo when I couldn’t join him, but I never had. What would I do if I got a flat tire or a broken chain and I couldn’t fix what my semi-pro bicycle mechanic husband had made a non-issue before? What if I was chased by a dog? When a pony-sized spotted mastiff stormed us on one of our Sunday rides, Adrian rode between the beast and me, let it get within two feet of him, and squirted it in the face with his water bottle. The dog spun away with a yelp, tucked its tail, and sprinted for home. I’d frozen.

I had my water bottles with me, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t scared of dogs. All I wanted was to get on my bicycle. Adrian had been gone for ten days, and I pretty much didn’t feel anything anymore, except hollow. Not relieved that my parents left, not proud that we pulled off a good-enough birthday for Sam, not angry about Rhonda Dale trying to snatch a humiliating fifteen minutes of fame off of Adrian and me. At least the kids hadn’t found out about her. FML, as Sam would say.

Dying didn’t sound as scary as it used to. Besides, no one really needed me. Sam had his birth father, Annabelle had her grandparents. Everyone had someone. I wouldn’t be reckless—I didn’t have the energy to kill myself—I just didn’t care which direction the needle swung between life and death.

Once I got out on the roads around Waller, though, all that started to change. My body warmed up and the ride felt good. The gently rolling hills, gnarly oaks, and tall pines awakened my senses. I was sorry I hadn’t thought to go out there earlier. Every breath I drew in filled my void and brought me a sense of Adrian’s presence as I flew low to the ground, until it was close to joy. I could feel him out there, feel a connection to him. I could have ridden to Alaska and back.

We loved to go out there early in the morning, when the fog hovered over the ground. It began to lift, and I picked up speed as I passed a mobile home with a hand-lettered yard sign that said, “Ain’t nothing here worth your life.” Almost immediately beyond the trailer homes was a grand, gated entrance to a ranch with magnificent horses. I’d been horse crazy as a kid, for the horses at my dad’s clinic and my own little quarter horse, Joey, and the Waller ranches were my favorite part of the route. On cooler mornings, Adrian and I watched the quarter horses run through the fields with their tails held high. Donkeys lived at almost all of the horse ranches, paired to the flightiest horses to keep them calm, but I always thought they looked like status symbols, an “I’m so cool I have my own donkey” sort of thing.

Adrian had gotten a kick out of them. “Michele, I guess that makes me your ass.”

I laughed, remembering, and warmth flooded me from the inside out.

When I was deep in my memory trance and out as far in the boondocks as I could go—about twenty miles from the car—an old white Ford Taurus pulled up beside and around me. Startled, I swerved. I nearly crashed as it accelerated and drove on. I steadied La Mariposa before I tried to change direction again.

A car horn blared in front of me.

“Hey!” The rush of wind and the engine of a truck muffled my yell. A beater pickup truck was heading straight at me. The driver held his hand high in a one-fingered salute.

I heard Adrian’s voice and time stopped.

“You want to know how I survived that head-on, Michele? I jumped the bike, like hopping over a big speed bump. I didn’t let the car or my bicycle dictate my fall.”

Was this now, was it for real? I answered, although whether it was aloud or only in my mind, I didn’t know:
“I’ve never had a fall. I can’t even squirt water at a dog!”

“You’ll get your chance. Everyone does. My money is on you.”

I jerked my handlebars to the right and ditched my bicycle as it hit the ground, twisting my ankles to uncleat and going into a tuck-and-roll into a grassy patch of wildflowers. My chin strap pulled hard as my roll forced the helmet around on my head, but that was the worst of it. I ended up facedown in the grass. The truck honked again and sped away.

“Adrian?” My voice sounded tiny in the quiet.

No answer.

He had been there. I was sure of it. I rolled over and stared up at a sky the color of bluebonnets. It was strangely peaceful, lying there in my bed of green with a warm afterglow of Adrian, no one in the world knowing where I was. My heart didn’t hurt as much. I could have stayed there forever. That part seemed real. The Taurus and the truck didn’t.

After lying there for God knows how long, I snapped back. If I didn’t get moving, the fire ants would eat me alive. I’d promised Annabelle a new outfit for her first day of school. I had to keep Sam from taking a joyride before he got his license. A heavy sigh burst out of me, and I summoned my will and began testing all my movable parts. Everything worked, I had only minor scrapes, and nothing really hurt. I wiped the dirt and grass off my hands onto the leg of my white bicycle shorts. My pulse throbbed in my temples and my insides started doing their winding-up thing. I wanted to scream the F word, but I couldn’t choke it out. Chingase, I thought instead. Chinga the damn truck driver, and chinga the Taurus driver, too. My first solo ride, and I had to ditch or be pancaked because of another damn Taurus. Maybe this wasn’t even the same car, maybe none of these Tauruses were the same car, and maybe Tauruses didn’t even matter. None of the drivers were blond, and Detective Young’s witness said the vehicle was a Ford F150.

Well, chinga him, too.

“Adrian?” I said out loud. I listened with all my senses.

Nothing. My heart plummeted back down to the pit it now lived in.

Chinga everybody. I got up and grabbed La Mariposa and rode back to my car alone.

***

That afternoon I took Annabelle and Sam to Fadi’s for Mediterranean food. Sam’s moods had pinballed from happy to angry to forlorn to manic, and Annabelle was jetting off to New York in a week and might never come back. I needed to get a fix on both of them, to keep them close to me, so although I didn’t feel like eating, I would make a good show of it. We would recharge, then head back to work and our new normals the next day. Or at least that was how I imagined it.

Sam grabbed a tray and slammed it down on the rails. Annabelle gathered her silverware and napkin with no sign that she’d noticed, but without allowing me to make eye contact with her. My tension ratcheted up. I recognized the warnings. Adrian had tried to get me into meditation, but everything in me resisted it. He’d settled for visualization and breathing exercises. Mostly I’d shined him on. I hadn’t even participated in the breathing exercises in Lamaze. But now and then I used his tricks. This was one of those nows.

I pictured the bluebonnet sky from earlier that morning, my back nestled in sun-warmed grass, my hand in Adrian’s and the length of his body lined up against mine. Then I breathed in time with a slow ten-count.

“Ma’am? Any dips?” The server had an edge to his tone.

“Oh, yes, sorry. Jalapeño hummus, please.”

I pushed my tray as I continued to breathe and order, mentally ticking off Adrian’s favorites, as well. He would get the lentil salad, and he never passed on fruit for dessert. Two chicken kabobs, oversized orders of eggplant, broccoli, and rice. When we reached the end of the line, the server handed me three heaping plates. I looked at them. One for me, two for Adrian, just like always. Had I ordered aloud for him? Rather than explain I was losing my mind, I took the plates and some to-go boxes.

Neither Annabelle nor Sam had spoken a word to me since we entered the restaurant. They went to find a seat while I paid, and when I joined them, they didn’t look up. Great. Okay, I’d try to get them talking.

“Your outfit looks fantastic on you, Belle. You made a good choice.” The green peasant blouse matched her eyes and set off her amazing blonde hair, and hopefully people would look up at that, instead of down at the impressive length of thigh displayed by her new skirt.

She moved some potatoes around on her plate with the tines of her fork. “Thank you.” Her voice was small and polite.

“So, do you have any plans to go out with friends in the next week?”

She wriggled a little in her chair. “Maybe.”

“Really? Who?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Describe him, then.”

Annabelle looked up, but at Sam, who was looking back at her now. “His name is Jay, he’s a year older than me, and he just moved here. He started with our swim team this week.” She finally turned to me, and excitement crept into her voice. “He’s going to swim for the University of Texas next year. Like Dad.”

My throat constricted. “He sounds interesting. Has he asked you out?”

She nodded. “Last night.” She smiled, with teeth.

Last night? What did she do last night? I thought she said she was hanging out with friends. “That’s great!”

Sam interrupted, his tone acid. “Does he know you’re moving to New York in a week?”

She glared at him. “No, butthead, I haven’t told him that yet. But I will, soon.”

I forced a smile to match hers. “When can we meet him?”

Sam didn’t give her a chance to answer. “I don’t want to meet him.”

I gasped. “Sam!”

“You don’t have to be mean.” Annabelle’s bottom lip protruded just a little bit.

“What? You’re leaving our family. What does it matter if we meet him or not?” He shoved a pita in his mouth and ripped a piece off with a twist of his head. He went on with his mouth full. “Besides, Mom, you probably don’t have time to do stuff with Belle and him now since you’re such a media whore.”

Annabelle dropped her fork on the floor.

I dropped my jaw. “What did you say?”

He chewed, calmer now. “You heard me, and it’s not like I’m the only one that feels that way, is it, Belle?” He took another bite of pita and shoveled rice in after it.

I looked down at my untouched food and ordered myself not to cry. I didn’t entirely disagree, but it wasn’t the whole story—only I hadn’t told it to the kids, just that I had a TV show to do and when I’d be back. “Belle?”

She looked daggers at Sam, then back at her food. “Well, not really, but sort of. I mean, it would be nice if you hadn’t gone to New York last week. Or if you’d come shopping with me instead of just meeting me to pay for the clothes. And Dad just died, and you’re on TV about the book, and talking like nothing’s wrong.”

Sam interrupted again. “Using him to sell your book. Classy, Mom.”

I gripped the edge of the table and leaned in. “That’s enough, Sam. You are entitled to your opinion, but you’re not entitled to be disrespectful.” I dialed it back. “Adrian wanted this book, he wanted people to read what he wrote, and I can’t help it that it came out one day before he died. I have obligations to the publisher, and—” I stopped. I sounded like Scarlett.

I tried another tack. “I know it’s hard right now. Nothing makes sense—to me, either. Someday it will get easier. I’m not sure when, but it will. Until then, all we have is each other.” I fought to keep a tremor out of my voice. “I loved Adrian. I will always love him. I’m so sad it’s hard to get out of bed. I promise I won’t do anything I think he wouldn’t want. I love you guys, too, and I need to talk to you more. I’m sorry. I should have explained why I had to do the TV stuff.”

“It’s all over the Internet.” Annabelle’s voice cracked. She looked up at me and wiped away tears with a savage jerk of her forearm across her face. “That woman. What people are saying they did together. Maybe if you’d stop going on TV, they’d quit talking about him like this?”

So much for protecting them.

“Was our family all a big lie?” Sam hissed, soft at first but louder with each word. “Were we a lie?”

“What? No! Of course not.” My voice escalated to a shriek. “She’s lying, she’s crazy!” Heads turned and I looked out the window, trying to think of what to say when I didn’t even know what to think. The angle of the sun through the windows made me squint, so it took a moment for me to figure out that someone was standing at the driver’s door of my Jetta. I shaded my eyes with my hand. Someone was trying all the doors on my car. I jumped to my feet, knocking my chair over backwards.

“Michele, what’s wrong?”

I dashed out the door and burst onto the sidewalk.

There was no one there.

I trotted out into the strip center parking lot, my head swiveling back and forth, searching, searching. Nothing. No one. What the hell?

“Mom?” Sam yelled, which got my attention. He hates a scene.

I turned back toward the restaurant. Annabelle and Sam stood together on the sidewalk. Tall and dark. Short and pale. Perfect opposites. God, I couldn’t take it. I put my hands on either side of my forehead and squeezed my temples. The kids stared at me, their eyes wide and fearful. I had to do better.

“I thought I saw someone breaking into our car.”

“Where?” Sam bowed up with testosterone.

“False alarm.” I crossed the parking lot to them and pulled them both close to me, Sam towering over me by a head and Annabelle eye-to-eye. They didn’t resist. Annabelle even patted my back, the way I usually patted hers. I patted them both. I lowered my voice to a stage whisper. “It’s possible I’m a little overwrought.” Annabelle and I giggled.

Sam’s body yielded a fraction and he eased farther into our group hug. “Guys, this is starting to look weird.”

“Deal with it, butthead.”

“Yeah, if you want me to take you to get your driver’s license tomorrow, deal with it.”

“If you pass, you can take me to morning practice on Tuesday.”

Sam snorted. “Four a.m.? I don’t think so.”